


Quick on the Trigger

by Vault_of_Glass



Series: Opportunities for Leisure [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Headshots get MacCready hot, On top of a car sex?, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, kinkmeme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6962266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_of_Glass/pseuds/Vault_of_Glass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to get things done in the Commonwealth when your boss keeps finding all new ways to tempt you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quick on the Trigger

MacCready wouldn't consider himself a particularly great teacher. He was barely an adult himself, didn't have any patience to speak of, and wasn't much into the idea of helping others with no immediate gain for himself. But when it came to River, he found there was no predicting his own behavior. She was perfection incarnate, all white softness and plum lipstick, she smelled like vanilla for Christ's sake, and she took everything he knew about himself and the world around him and mixed it up like a hurricane. But knowing her way around a rifle would benefit both of them if they were going to be traveling together, and that's how MacCready had found himself coaching the pre-war bombshell in the art of blowing heads off from a very far distance.

And she was a fucking natural.

* * *

The first time happened at the Corvega assembly plant. Through the darkness of a Commonwealth night, River snuck up into a lookout across from the factory. Her blade silenced the raider's cry at the throat before he could voice it, and she lowered his body quietly to the floor. The sight of that alone had shocked him. He knew after the time they'd spent together that violence did not come easily to her. When they'd first met, her face was smooth, unmarked, her hands soft and fine. But River wasn't stupid - far from it, she was the sharpest woman he'd met since the famous Lone Wanderer - and she knew the Commonwealth wouldn't take it easy on her because she was pretty and delicate. She shoved her unease and revulsion into a little box and locked it away until after the danger was gone. It was a necessary skill for survival, one she'd picked up on pretty quickly, and as much as he hated that she had to do that, it would keep her alive.

He watched in awe as she pulled her rifle from over her shoulder, pressed her eye like an expert to the scope. She was so still while she searched for her target, like a statue, and he studied the look on her face, wished he could sear it into the backs of his eyelids. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath tight and slow. From where he was standing, he could see the line of her delicate throat, and he didn't know why he suddenly wanted to taste the skin there.

MacCready was close enough to hear her exhale when she found what she was looking for. He watched her lean forward, the stock to her shoulder, heard her start to hold her breath. He followed the line of her rifle and spotted a raider patrolling the catwalks on the roof of the factory. River squeezed the trigger, the rifle sounded, muffled by the silencer, and the raider dropped dead mid-step, the bullet in his brain having ended his life immediately.

" _Jesus_ ," he muttered under his breath, louder than he'd intended to.

River looked up from her rifle, a question in the line of her brows.

This was before she'd blown him in the garage, before they'd realized they were in love with each other . . . they'd flirted a little, he'd had a steamy fantasy or two, but that was all really, so he knew it was inappropriate for him to get the hardest, most painful erection he'd had in years.

He coughed into his fist, shifted his weight, hoped to God it was dark enough she wouldn't notice the tent in his pants. "I'm, uh - you - I mean - good shot."

She grinned at him then, a flash of teeth and violet lips, and she was the best damn sight he'd ever seen in this sorry wasteland.

_What the fuck have I gotten myself into now?_

* * *

It happened again months later, after revelations, after falling in love, when they came across the giant wreck south of Warwick Homestead. He trailed behind as River walked the hills around the ship, trying to get a good angle. Next thing he knew, she was on her stomach, eye to the scope, tracking motion on the ship's bow. He had the sense to crouch low beside her, resisting the urge to touch her - staring at her the way he did was already bad enough. What was it about the sight of her wrapped around a rifle that got to him so much? Like a sickness, like a fever, seeing her with her finger on a trigger never failed to get him hot. Even now, her unwavering concentration made him want to kiss her, steal her breath, make her lose her focus.

But he wouldn't - not only because of the mortal danger it could pose to either of them, or how pissed she would be if he did - because watching her then use that rifle to splatter some raider's brain all over a wall was torturously arousing. Seeing her focus and line up the shot was like an agonizing foreplay to the climax when she pulled the trigger.

Some part of MacCready understood the fixation - her pre-war memories were Nate's. They'd built a life together that was now broken, inaccessible, just as his life with Lucy was no longer possible. But these new skills she'd developed, her killer instinct, defense mechanisms that were necessary second skins in the wasteland, these were things he'd taught her, memories they'd created together, part of her new life. He wasn't intending on replacing anything, and he'd never thought of her doing so either. Life was full of chapters - and he wanted her to be in the rest of his.

It took him far too long to realize she'd caught him staring, but it wasn't the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last. She laughed, like always, and like always he loved her a little bit more.

* * *

It was only a matter of time before it was too much for him to take.

It was almost serendipitous, the pack of feral ghouls that came upon them shortly after dark one night. They'd been looking for a place to settle down, had momentarily split up to find shelter in the maze of ruined city before it got too dark to see. He'd found a decent office building - ceiling overhead, a door that closed - and had stepped outside and called her name only to see the shadows crawling over cars and walls toward him with the unmistakable erratic motion of feral ghouls. There was still a small part of him that panicked at the sight of them, dark memories too horrible to forget - _because even your fears are stubborn,_ Leah had scolded him once, trying to anger him into overcoming it; a pretty solid strategy, but his tenacity had stumped even the hero of the Capital Wasteland. He steeled himself, lined up the shots with his rifle, but there were one too many to keep them all back, and it was lunging at him with a guttural hiss. His heart slammed against his ribcage, breath sticking in his throat as he struggled to reload with shaking hands.

A shotgun blast rang out across the ruined street. The ghoul's body sagged against MacCready's legs, dead and limp, and he stepped back with a grunt.

River kicked the corpse further away from him with her boot, wrinkling her nose, and the practicality with which she did it had him hard again already. Amber eyes turned his way, bright with concern. "You okay?"

Maybe it was the adrenaline, the fight-or-flight response triggering an altogether different response, not a surprising one when she was involved, but definitely a 180 from suffocating fear. In an instant, he was grabbing the shotgun from her hands, tossing it out of the way so he could snatch her up by the waist and kiss her. It was a knee-jerk reaction, inexorable, like the passing of time itself, because he was helpless against temptation when it came to her.

River's surprised yelp melted into a satisfied moan as he pressed her up against the hood of a ruined car. She wrapped her legs around his waist, welcoming his sudden passion even if it was unexpected. He tried to be gentle, but he didn't want to be, so it was difficult, and she certainly didn't seem to mind his rough handling, if the little moans and whimpers were any sign.

"Here?" she breathed, amused and excited, and it should've been illegal for a woman to sound so sexy. "Really?"

"Right here," he rumbled hoarsely, hands inching up her shirt as he spoke, leaving trails of heat like fingerprints all over her skin. "Right now."

A silvery little laugh, so tempting it was sinful. "I'm yours."

"I know." Her eyes flashed, but he'd figured out a long time ago that she liked the look of arrogance on him. "God, it's so hot when you do that."

She shivered beneath the onslaught of sensation: his mouth like a molten brand against her skin, hands demanding and rough, need scraping like sand across his voice. "Do what?"

"Anything," he admitted and she would have laughed if he hadn't stolen her breath. "When you nail a headshot from a hundred yards or talk a raider into handing you his gun like a Christmas present. All the times you make the Commonwealth your bitch. Turns me on like crazy."

A strangled groan got caught in her throat when he ground himself against her, and he was so hard it made her stomach twist with anticipation. She'd worn a set of road leathers, a decision she was regretting now as he fumbled with the straps and buckles and a pair of pants so tight he wondered briefly how she'd planned on getting herself out of them again. She wriggled them down her hips as he freed his aching cock from his pants.

After some struggling and heated breaths, hisses of impatience, skin flushed and cold and craving hers, he lined himself up and sank into her in one brutal motion. She muffled her groan into his throat, clamped between her teeth, and he savored the pain because it wasn't sex with River if it didn't hurt a little, in that special, delicious way she had of making him crave it.

She stretched out over the hood, lips opening around a shaky breath as he filled her again. His thrusts were rough bordering on savage, and he'd be concerned if she hadn't started up a mindless, frenzied rant _god, you feel so good, fuck fuck fuck yes, RJ please._

Her words melted into a frantic cry, white hair fanned out over the rusted skeleton of what might have once been a beautiful car. It was the least of MacCready's concerns, really, as she pulled him closer by the collar of his jacket, fingernails scraping his collarbone in the process. Their teeth clashed when they kissed, and it was wild, untamed, the way he felt whenever the sight of her killing something made him hard.

He forced himself to slow down despite the raging instinct to fuck her so hard she wouldn't be able to walk, because the small remaining traces of his sanity knew that such a feat wouldn't be practical outside the safety of a settlement. And if he didn't make himself take his time, it would be over before the going got good.

MacCready slung her legs up over his shoulders, her hips hanging above the slope of the car's hood, and she was helpless in this position to defend herself from his questing fingers as they made their way down her quivering thighs.

River groaned, knew what he was looking for, hated and loved him for it at the same time. "RJ -," she started to protest, but it quickly turned into " _fuck_ , baby," as he found the swollen bead of her clit, took up an erratic, unyielding rhythm with the pad of his thumb.

"Can't -" he grunted with a shake of his head, the sound stretching into a hoarse groan when she rolled her nipples between her fingers, bit down into her bottom lip, purple lipstick smudged and smeared and she looked like the centerfold out of a pre-war nudie magazine. It didn't help tame the boiling in his blood, urging him closer to release. Her clit was an emergency release button when she turned him on so much he knew he wouldn't last - a frequent occurrence with the white-haired vixen currently writhing on the end of his cock. "You're too good, beautiful, I'm sorry."

"No you don't," River denied him, planting her boots against his shoulders and pushing him back. He groped for her with his hands, but she slapped them away with a wicked, sultry smile. "Don't worry, baby, I can take care of myself."

MacCready groaned, a primal, masculine, wanting sound, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of her slim fingers sinking between her glistening folds. He leaned against her feet, hands caressing what he could reach of her legs but remaining obediently away from where he wanted to touch her the most.

She could see the frantic need etched across his handsome face, hear it in the catch of his breath as he lifted one of her feet and pressed his mouth to her ankle. But he wouldn't be MacCready if he didn't push the limits, his hands passing closer and closer to the apex of her thighs, where she worked herself into a frenzy. When she toed the line of her climax, evident in her grinding hips, the whine in each shuddering breath, his fingers brushed hers, pressed past them into her slick, clenching walls.

"Goddamn it, that's good," she gasped, throwing her head back, and then she was coming around his fingers, unleashing a shrill scream that echoed in the darkness around them, possibly alerting any number of unspeakable wasteland horrors to their presence, but he'd deal with it later because he couldn't bear to drag himself away from her now. He pumped his fingers into her, propelled her through the force of her orgasm until the quivering aftershocks had finally faded and she fell still, legs slumping lifelessly against him.

"You need discipline," she managed finally after she'd caught her breath, smiling lazily.

MacCready smirked, hitching her hips closer. "You gonna spank me?"

"I just might." Her voice cracked, weakened the threat, but he didn't doubt her sincerity. She sighed when he prodded against her again, and then she was stretching around him and _dear God in heaven_ he was so thick. She twitched and shuddered as he eased into her once more, feeling raw, oversensitive after her orgasm. "RJ," she groaned between arching breaths.

He chuckled weakly, bit down on a curse that threatened to slip out as he slid in deep, pressed his hips flush to hers. She was hot and tight and wet and everything good in the world. "Perfect," he declared on a heavy breath, running his hands down the sides of her body. "Just . . . perfect."

Her eyes sparkled up at him, wide and shining with pleasure. She hooked her fingers into the heels of her boots and shucked them off, one by one. He waited, inching back and forth, a tiny swell of pressure that made her clumsy, coaxed little moans out of each breath she took. She kept breathing his name, over and over, a hypnotic mantra that made his head swim.

It was dark now, an unseasonably warm night for a Commonwealth winter, and her fingernails left stinging trails over his sweat-slick shoulders. They both knew they didn't have much time to linger, no matter how deliciously well they fit together, again and again, because a super mutant wouldn't care how perfectly she completed him.

MacCready cupped her face with one calloused hand, stroked the line of her cheekbone and savored the way her eyes rolled back, the feel of her beneath him, the symphony she made out of his name, just two letters but never sweeter than in her smoky voice.

"Thanks for - ah!" A particularly deep thrust cut her sentence short. She caught her breath and tried again amid the sound of his dark chuckle. "Thanks for waiting."

He grinned, the arrogant one she loved the most. "Anytime, angel." Overconfident, but breathless, one of her favorite combinations on him.

River's laughter spilled out of her, hoarse and desperate, and the rest of the words she'd wanted to say faded into the haze of pleasure. He was moving faster now, hips snapping against hers with the determined tempo of a man seeking his release, and she knew from the swell of pressure in her body that her own was not far off.

"RJ," she said again, for what might've been the hundredth time, but he never seemed to tire of it, even now made a low, tight sound of satisfaction at the sound.

River slid her hands under his shirt, dug her nails into the tense muscles of his abdomen. He was wound up so tight, shoulders a rigid line beneath her knees, and she hated to see him suffer.

"Please," she whimpered, crying out when he slid in _just right_. "Please, please."

"Ready for it, beautiful?" He was at the last edges of his self-restraint, she could hear it in his voice, and pushing him past them always filled her with heat.

" _Yes_." The word came out a sharp hiss, made staccato with each time his hips met hers, and then his eyes cracked open, blazing blue against amber, and his voice breaking apart around her name sent her over the edge. Her orgasm rippled through her like an earthquake, flared across her raw nerves. She shuddered, and her cunt clamping down around his cock forced him into his release.

"Fuck, fuck, River," he groaned, pulling out and taking himself in his hand as he came in spurts over her thighs and stomach. She watched the pleasure pass over his face like agony, body twitching with pulses after his orgasm had begun to fade. He caught himself with a hand over her shoulder, panting for breath. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck and held him close, so she could feel the shift of his every breath, the beat of his heart against her. She whispered softly against the shell of his ear that she loved him, this was perfect, this was right, and though he could hardly hear her over the rush of blood in his ears, he relaxed into the sound of her voice.

"That . . . was amazing," he sighed, laughter curling like disbelief around the words. "Remind me to thank Vault-Tec for freezing you until I came around."

"I don't think mindblowing sex is the future they had in mind when they made us into TV dinners," she mused, climbing gingerly to her feet.

MacCready gathered up her clothes and shotgun as she steadied herself, slung the gun over his shoulder and held his free hand out to her. "Yeah, but you're _my_ TV dinner."

"You have such a way with words. Hurry up and get me inside before I jump you again."

"You might be joking, but give me twenty minutes and I'll be back in business."

"God bless the libido of a twenty-two-year-old."

MacCready was still laughing as they stepped into the old office building, the smile lingering on his face even as he helped her clean up. They crawled into the sleeping bag they shared, barely big enough for both of them (that was part of the fun). He kissed her in the quiet darkness, sharing breath and body heat, and if she could fall asleep with him like this every night, she didn't care what the next morning might bring.

If she had him, she had the world.


End file.
